


mirage

by astralscrivener



Series: vld fic requests [2]
Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Angst, Back to Earth, Established Keith/Lance (Voltron), M/M, Post-War, Suspense, fic request
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-19
Updated: 2017-12-19
Packaged: 2019-02-17 00:42:44
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,616
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13065555
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/astralscrivener/pseuds/astralscrivener
Summary: “If I make it,” Lance wheezed, while Keith clutched at his hand, because it was all he could do, and all he could do to ground himself and keep from lashing out entirely, “I’m taking you to meet my family. When this war ends, I’m taking you back to Cuba with me.”Almost six years of being in space, and Lance and Keith finally return to Earth.fic request for instagram user raven_moone: dreamer + klance





	mirage

**Author's Note:**

> for instagram user **raven_moone** , who requested dreamer + klance. ...huehuehuehuehue

**.:dreamer:.**

            Five years, eight months, two weeks, four days, thirteen hours, twenty-nine minutes.

            Thousands of planets. Innumerable people. One war. One team. One coalition. One empire. One victor.

            The fact that he’s been through it and _lived_ already sets him on edge, every second that passes a second too long. The war ended with the Battle for the Milky Way, damage control now in full swing. He volunteered to come back here, back to a blue planet in a blue lion, with a red paladin hovering over his shoulder, and he’s only starting to regret it. Nobody was able to come back here in time—the team clung on to the bitter hope that the line had held, that Earth has been spared. The fact that it still _exists,_ growing ever bigger in the window, still looking sort of the same as when he left, is a miracle in itself.

            He’s dreamed of this day, and he’s had nightmares of this day. In the better ones, he was home years ago, without the scars marring his skin, the traumas he’s lived through never coming to fruition. In the better ones, he was still young and fresh-faced, waltzing through a gate with triumph, holding his head high, an intergalactic hero like the ones he grew up watching. Then there were the darker ones, ones that had him waking up in cold sweats, sometimes screaming, often crying. Ones where Earth was obliterated, where he landed on a desolate planet and came home to carnage and carcasses.

            He doesn’t know what to do with this. The planet looks relatively unharmed, from this distance. Same oceans. Same patterns of land—nothing sticks out as distinctly missing or deformed. Still, Lance can’t shake the unease settling in his bones, making its way to his core. His fingers tremble slightly where they clutch Blue’s controls, and when he inhales sharply, a hand comes down on his shoulder and squeezes.

            Lance looks up on his exhale, blue eyes meeting indigo, and Keith smiles grimly down at him. The look isn’t one of reassurance, per se, because neither of them know for sure what they’re going to find when they land on Varadero Beach. It’s one of understanding though, for sure. A silent promise that they’re in this together.

            Lance’s mind goes back, two years ago, when he was bleeding out and his vision was swimming and he was certain that the last thing he was going to see was the inside of a prison cell on a Galra-allied planet, Keith’s face drawn with fear and fury as he stared down at his lover of, at that time, just over a year.

            “If I make it,” Lance wheezed, while Keith clutched at his hand, because it was all he could do, and all he could do to ground himself and keep from lashing out entirely, “I’m taking you to meet my family. When this war ends, I’m taking you back to Cuba with me.”

            And Keith had nodded, blinking back tears. When Lance awoke after that, tumbling out of a cryopod into Keith’s waiting arms, he reaffirmed that promise. Every time they were in battle, that vow rang in the back of their heads. There was a life waiting for them back on Earth. No matter that Keith had no family of his own left—Lance would give him one.

            Two years of seemingly endless, occasionally hopeless fighting later, Lance is ready to fulfill that promise.

            It’s not long until ocean water churns beneath them, individual waves distinguishable from the windows with the naked eye. They’re no more than a few minutes out from the place Lance once called home, each passing moment yanking the knot in the pit of Lance’s stomach tighter.

            If this trip had taken place early on, when Lance still hoped that maybe, after only six months of fighting the Galra, they’d be done with the job, maybe he would’ve put on a little more of a show. Maybe his hands would’ve been all over the place, loud voice filling Blue’s cockpit, as he regaled Keith with every tale from his childhood. Maybe Keith wouldn’t have been the only soul joining him. But old habits die hard, and five, nearly six _years_ of constantly looking over his shoulder, constantly making sure he’s breathing and Keith’s breathing and the team’s breathing, have him on edge, shoulders bunched.

            Keith doesn’t whisper to him that _everything_ _’s gonna be fine_. Keith won’t lie to him.

            Blue’s paws soon touch down on white sand, and the lion gently comes to rest, jaw lowering to the ground so that Lance and Keith can leave whenever they like. Lance releases his controls as Blue powers down, and leans back in his seat, shutting his eyes, preparing to see his childhood home for the first time in a long time. Longer than they’ve been in space. He hasn’t seen his family since the last vacation at the Garrison—too many months before he and the others found Blue in a desert cave.            

            Lance listens to Keith’s footsteps, light taps of boots against metal, as the Red Paladin walks around Lance’s chair, from behind to in front.

            “Hey,” Keith says gently, and fingers intertwine with Lance’s. Lance opens his eyes slightly; Keith crouches down in front of him, indigo eyes brimming with concern.

            For years, Lance has drilled it into himself that he should be grateful, he has something on Earth to come back to, while Keith has no one but his team, no one but the other Paladins and the allies they make along the way. Lance has a big family waiting back for him on Varadero Beach. But now Lance sees the direction in which Keith has gently been nudging him—it’s normal to be nervous or feel unlucky. He has something to _lose._

            “I’m never going to be ready for this,” Lance whispers, rising to his feet.

            Keith squeezes their clasped hands, giving Lance a grim smile. “We were never ready for the Galra, and look where that got us.”

            Alive—barely—on white shores on Earth, hand-in-hand. That may or may not be where Keith’s going with this, but it’s enough to coax a small smile out of Lance. Keith’s own grin grows at the sight. “There’s my sharpshooter.”

            Keith doesn’t pull. He waits until Lance is at his side and lets his taller companion lead the way out of the Blue Lion, sand shifting underfoot as they deboard. Their helmets deem the air still breathable, as if they ever had any doubt, and Lance and Keith let go of each other to tug them off. Lance inhales the salty seabreeze, Keith watching the whole time with the ghost of a smile still on his face.

            “So,” Lance says, sniffles, and attempts to gather himself, blinking away the tears gathering in the corners of his eyes, “this is where I grew up. Welcome to my home.”

            He sweeps his arm out weakly, gesturing to the sands around them, to the vegetation growing nearby. In the distance, Keith can make out the peaks of wooden fence slats, and he follows Lance when he starts in that direction.

            Lance’s gait becomes less swaggering and more hesitant every step they draw closer to the fence, and now Keith sees a house encircled by it. The house isn’t huge. The closest descriptor Keith can think of is a split-level ranch, with architectural elements from old Spain and ancient Rome and Greece. It’s cozy, if a bit worn down. Something _lived in._

            Lance halts just outside of the gate to the fence, hand hovering near the lock before dropping back down to his side.

            “W-What if…what if they’re not there?” Lance asks, without turning around to face Keith.

            His hand shakes, and Keith takes it up again.

            He can’t blame Lance for having doubts—with the sun out in full force, there’s no need for inside lights. The windows are either dark or reflect the sun’s rays, obscuring anything or anyone that might be inside. The area is also _quiet,_ quiet enough to hear a pin drop. He remembers the warnings issued to Earth from the Castle of Lions in the days before the closest attacks by the Galra— _stay inside, lay low, don_ _’t move until you’re given the all-clear._

            “I-I _can_ _’t_ —I can’t do it—”

            Lance backs up from the fence with a shake of his head, his entire form trembling. Keith looks between Lance and the house, sets his jaw, and strides forward, never once loosening his grip on Lance’s hand. Lance stumbles after him, because he knows if he won’t go forward, Keith will. It’s always been like that—where one falters, the other’s there to pull them back up.

            Keith undoes the lock with one hand and swings the gate open. It creaks on rusty hinges, giving way to a beaten concrete path, all the way up to the front door. Keith waits to move forward again until he and Lance are side-by-side.

            “You can do this,” Keith says, and leans over to press his lips against Lance’s cheek. “You’ve made it this far. C’mon.”

            Keith draws back, but Lance chases after him—he turns his whole body and cups the back of Keith’s head with his free hand, their lips meeting softly. When they part, Lance takes the moment to press his forehead against Keith’s and breathes in.

            _You are real. You are here. This is happening._

            “That’s it,” Keith murmurs encouragingly, rubbing his thumb along Lance’s knuckles. “Yep. You’ve got this.”

            Lance looks down at Keith through half-lidded eyes. “Thank you.”

            Initially, Lance was going to make this journey alone. There’s still much to be done not just across the Milky Way, but across the universe as a whole—they don’t have an awful lot of time for the Paladins to spare returning to their homes to check on their families. Lance had always pined after Earth hardest, so when the opportunity came up, he was the first to grab at it.

            A companion was Shiro’s suggestion—the victory is fresh, and more than a few pockets of intense Galra activity still linger across space. Traps still lie, waiting to be sprung. Earth would be the perfect place to set a trap, Shiro had explained. _Take a partner. Come back safe._

            The words had barely been out of his mouth when Keith stepped up.

            “Let’s do this,” Lance says, and faces forward again, a new set to his shoulders as he strides toward the front door, hand still tightly clasping Keith’s. Keith matches his pace, all the way up the front steps.

            They only let go of each other again when Lance reaches for the knob and turns it. He only gets so far before it sticks, and he frowns. His eyes dart to the side, toward a rusty mailbox stuck to the side of the house, fallen into disuse. He reaches inside and produces a key, and for a moment, all he can do is stare.

            “I didn’t think it would be in there,” Lance says.

            He shrugs, and Keith shrugs, and Lance puts the key in the knob and turns it again. This time, the door opens. Lance takes the key out, and sticks it back in its hiding spot, and steps inside the house, hand reaching back for Keith again. Keith pushes the door open the rest of the way and gets a good look at a foyer coated in dust.

            If he feels sick at the sight, he can’t imagine how Lance is feeling.

            “Holy shit,” Lance whispers. “I-It’s…it’s really…nothing’s _changed._ ”

            Lance’s fingers slip out of Keith’s absently as he makes his way toward the kitchen, neglecting the living room off to his left, where cushions sit neatly placed into couches and chairs, pillows arranged just so, and the curtains are drawn back, and Keith can see the dust in the air where sun rays slice through.

            While he’s sure Lance has had his own visions for how this has all gone down, so has Keith. Most scenarios involved the whole team watching Lance run up sandy dunes to a massive family waiting for him in a front yard a lot bigger than this one, with a fence that isn’t so rusty, and a mailbox filled with letters. They’d all be invited inside for food, and Lance would tell his blood family about space, while his space family learns all about the boy their Blue Paladin was before the war.

            This sort of homecoming—empty, silent, dusty—is what Keith expected—and still expects—upon coming back to his desert shack, if he ever gets the chance. If it’s still there, and hasn’t been destroyed by the Galra or the Garrison.

            “ _Ay!_ ” Keith hears from the kitchen now. “ _¿Mamá, Papá?_ ”

            Lance’s voice echoes through the silent house, and gets no response.

            Then Keith hears the footsteps running.

            Lance bolts past Keith, past the living room, toward the short set of stairs, and he takes them two at a time. Keith follows without asking, abandoning his helmet on the coffee table. His bayard materializes in his hand before he realizes he’s even summoned it.

            He reaches the top of the stairs to find Lance throwing open doors, poking his head in rooms and calling out phrases in Spanish that Keith can’t translate. On the last door Lance throws open, his shout dies in his throat, arm slackening and falling back to his side.

            Then he’s on his knees.

            “Lance!” Keith shouts, and rushes toward his side, prepared to defend from a surprise attack when he discovers that Lance has crashed to the ground all on his own.

            Keith looks in the room and suddenly realizes why.

            This, undoubtedly, is Lance’s old room.

            There’ still blue wallpaper on the walls, and the ceiling is adorned with glow-in-the-dark stars that serve no purpose in the present daylight. Posters of various bands litter the walls, and there’s even one of Shiro that Keith _almost_ laughs at. Maybe he would’ve, but something else catches his eye, set up on the nightstand next to the bed with the faded black-and-blue blankets. Keith drifts towards it, bayard dematerializing, his stomach knotting as he gets closer.

            It’s a shrine— _memorial,_ Keith corrects himself—dedicated to Lance.

            There are photos of him, with his family and by himself, at various stages in his life. The one that stands out the most prominently, centered, surrounded by candles, is a headshot of Lance in that awful orange Garrison uniform, smiling brightly. That’s the Lance Keith remembers meeting for the first time ever, the boy who solved the problem plaguing Keith since Shiro went missing, the boy who got them shot into space.

            _They think he_ _’s dead._

            Of course they do, and the realization of it all slams into Keith like a train.

            Of course. Of _course._ Standard government protocol for when four personnel suddenly go missing for almost six years. _Missing and presumed dead, bodies unable to be recovered._

            Various newspaper clippings lie at the bottom of the shrine, each clipping growing shorter and shorter—updates on the missing cadets. Pidge Gunderson, Hunk Garrett, and Lance McClain.

            Brief mentions of the ill-fated Kerberos mission, and crew members Takashi Shirogane, Samuel Holt, and Matthew Holt.

            No mentions of Keith Kogane.

            _What did you expect?_

            “Why?” Lance asks, from the door. “Why would they leave everything behind? Where _are they?_ ”

            He’s still on his knees when Keith turns around, face pressed into his hands.

            “I don’t know,” Keith replies, and considers sitting on the edge of the bed, but decides against it. This room, aside from the shrine, has probably been untouched since Lance last left it—it’s not Keith’s place to start messing around with it. He opts, instead, for kneeling down in front of Lance, and taking him gently by the wrists.

            “I’m sorry,” Keith says, and his voice is quieter this time.

            Lance doesn’t meet his insistent gaze, but laughs bitterly as he staggers to his feet, pulling away from the Red Paladin. His laugh sends unease spearing through Keith. He’s heard the laugh before, in some of the worst moments of Lance’s self-deprecation. In other instances, before Lance ended the life of an enemy who’d done them one too many wrongs.

            “I don’t even know what I expected,” Lance mutters, and leaves the room without waiting for Keith.

            He descends the stairs slowly, running his hand over the worn banister, palm coming away covered in gray dust. When he reaches the landing, he can’t help but stop and stare at his hand for a moment. This is his home, the place he grew up, the place he watched the stars from for the first time, _abandoned._ Not sold. Not given away. _Abandoned._

            He almost misses the note taped to the back of the front door.

 _Hijo,_ the short letter starts, and Lance’s chest aches already. It’s his mother’s neat, curly scrawl, no doubt about it.

            “What is that?” Keith asks curiously, when Lance is halfway through reading. Lance doesn’t answer until he’s finished, and silent tears roll down his cheeks.

            “It’s from my mom,” he whispers, because that’s all he can manage without his voice breaking.

            “What’s it say?” Keith presses, when Lance doesn’t elaborate.

            Lance looks haunted when he lifts his gaze to meet Keith’s, and for a moment, Keith swears he feels his soul leave his body. “It says we have to wake up.”

            Those seven words trigger something—the ground rumbles, and Keith activates his bayard, while Lance mimics him, gun whirring to life in his hands. They press against each other, as they have for countless battles.

            “We fell for it,” Lance croaks. “We fell for it _again._ ”

            The walls of the house begin cracking, and blinding light seeps through the fissures. Lance drops a hand away from his gun and seeks Keith’s—Keith takes him up without hesitation. Even so, the sensation of Keith’s touch fades away, as does the feel of his bayard. Gone is the smell of salty sea air and dusty old house.

            The floorboards give way, and Lance freefalls, screams tearing from his throat before he can stop them. He hears Keith, but Keith’s screams are fading. Lance tumbles, on and on through the dark, nothing to latch onto, nothing to break his never-ending fall—

* * *

            Lance jerks awake in the same place he’s been jerking awake for the past…three weeks? Four? A month now?

            _It was so real,_ comes his first conscious thought. The second one, though, seems infinitely more important.

            “Keith!” he shouts, and whips his head around, struggling against the restraints that keep him against the metal table he’s been strapped to for who-knows-how-long. His eyes land on Keith, no more than ten feet away, but the space that stretches between them seems infinite. Keith pants where he is, as Galra doctors detach nodes from his head.

            “I’m here,” Keith breathes. “Lance, I’m so sorry.”

            Lance realizes, then, that he hadn’t been crying in just the dream.

            His home, empty, hadn’t been real. His mother’s handwriting was conjured out of his own vague memories. The letter, beginning so sweetly, devolving into nonsense and eventually an endless stream of _wake up wake up wake up you are dreaming wake up wake up wake up this is not real_ —that had been conjured up, too.

            But Keith—he’d been real.

            He’s still real, real as the day they were ambushed and captured, so soon before the war was supposed to come to an end. Lance wonders now if the war _has_ ended, and this is one of those stubborn pockets of Galra resistance refusing to die, just as there are with every war. Is the team looking for them? Is the fighting still happening?

            “Lance,” Keith says, “look at me. Stay with me.”

            Lance’s eyes refocus on the Red Paladin as his bonds are undone, and he’s shoved on the ground. Lance winces, phantom pain echoing through his limbs before he’s pushed just as roughly. Doctors bind his arms behind him, and then Lance gets dragged back to his feet, marched out of the lab, and thrown unceremoniously in a cell, Keith dumped in behind him before the door gets shut.

            Instantly, the two of them crawl to each other, until they’ve got each other in their arms.

            “I’m sorry,” Keith repeats, though he has nothing to be sorry for, because neither of them have any control over which dreams and sims they get plunged into. “I wish it had been one of mine.”

            The first couple days here consisted of endless brain scans and simulations, dredging up each of their biggest hopes and fears. Since then, the doctors here have found sadistic joy in picking apart Lance’s desires. He’s seen blue ocean and white sand and his childhood home more times than he can count.

            Still, he’s never once seen his parents or siblings, neither his niece nor his nephew.

            They still stay just out of reach.

            “It’s okay,” Lance whispers, smoothing down Keith’s hair before he buries his face in the crook of Keith’s neck.

            He should’ve seen this coming. Between the two of them, he’s always been the dreamer. Keith is the here-and-now guy; Lance thinks ahead, looks to the future, and hopes one of his aspirations will be seen through. The Galra have just picked up on his biggest one.

            “I’ve got you here, don’t I?” Lance asks, voice muffled by Keith’s hair, but Keith hears him all the same.

            “Yeah,” he responds. “You’ve got me.”

            One way or another, they’ll fight their way out of this one.

**Author's Note:**

> you can blame my shower break for the ending :P
> 
> idk when the next request is going up / sgd is updating / squad up is updating / have a good day/night/whatever y'all, it's 3:15 AM and i'm going to bed


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